Chapter 4 - The Senator's Web-4
The horror of Ethan's confession hung in the air like toxic gas.
I stood there by the glass wall, holding my four-pound son against my chest, feeling a deep, ice-cold fury that consumed every remaining shred of pity I might have had for the man I used to love. He hadn't just been a selfish husband or a dishonest businessman. He had been willing to send the mother of his child to a federal prison for life just to preserve his own cowardly skin.
David Vance took out his phone, his face rigid with professional fury, and immediately pressed a speed-dial button. "Marcus," David spoke into the phone, "tell the federal team to expand the search warrant to include Vance Holdings’ main server farm in New Jersey. We’re dealing with an active RICO operation."
Ethan’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated panic. "No! David, stop! You don't know what Arthur Vance is capable of! He has people everywhere! He has judges on his payroll, federal agents, state prosecutors! If he finds out that I talked to you, he’ll have me killed before I ever step foot inside a courtroom!"
"Then you’d better hope the police put you in protective custody very quickly, Ethan," I said, my tone as sharp as a diamond blade.
Before Ethan could plead any further, his phone rang loudly in his pocket. The ringtone echoed through the silent NICU corridor—a heavy, classical chime that sounded like a funeral bell.
Ethan pulled the phone out with trembling fingers. The caller ID on the screen read in bold, black letters: SENATOR ARTHUR VANCE.
Ethan dropped the phone onto the floor as if it had turned into a venomous viper. It bounced against the tile, the screen glowing brightly in the dim light.
"Answer it," I commanded.
"No... no way..." Ethan whimpered, backing away toward the wall. "I can't... I can't talk to him..."
"I said, answer it," I repeated, stepping up to the glass wall, my eyes burning with an unyielding command. "Put it on speakerphone."
Ethan, shaking so violently he could barely operate his thumbs, crouched down on the floor, picked up the glowing phone, swiped the screen, and pressed the speaker icon.
"Ethan," a deep, gravelly, remarkably calm voice boomed from the speaker. It was Senator Arthur Vance—a man whose face had graced political billboards across the state for thirty years, a man revered as a pillar of the community.
"Senator..." Ethan squeaked, his voice cracking like a terrified child’s.
"Where is my daughter, Ethan?" Senator Vance asked, his tone soft, measured, and terrifyingly devoid of emotion. "Her security detail informed me that she was arrested at St. Matthew’s Hospital fifteen minutes ago. Why is my daughter in handcuffs on the eve of her wedding?"
"Senator... please, listen to me..." Ethan stammered, sweating profusely. "Claire... Claire found out about the offshore accounts! She has the patent trust documents! The federal authorities just froze all Cole Enterprises' accounts, and... and Bianca was arrested for the parking garage incident!"
A long, excruciating silence stretched across the line.
We could hear the faint sound of classical piano music playing softly in the background of Senator Vance’s office—the sounds of an opulent rehearsal dinner waiting for a groom who would never arrive.
"I see," Senator Vance spoke finally, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register. "So you allowed a bitter, dismissed ex-wife to compromise a fifty-million-dollar operation, drag my daughter into a police station, and threaten my political career."
"It wasn't my fault!" Ethan cried out desperately, pulling the phone closer to his face. "Bianca attacked her! Bianca went to her apartment without telling me! Claire had our baby prematurely because of her!"
"I don't care about the baby, Ethan," Senator Vance interrupted coldly, each word measured and precise. "And I certainly don't care about your excuses. You have thirty minutes to fix this. You will go down to the central precinct, you will take full legal responsibility for whatever happened in that parking garage, and you will ensure my daughter is released without charges before the midnight news cycle."
"And if I can't?!" Ethan wept.
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"If you can't," Senator Vance replied softly, "then the fifty million dollars my associates invested in your firm will be considered a defaulted debt. And you know how my associates collect on defaulted debts, Ethan. They don't use lawyers."
The call disconnected with a sharp, final beep.
